Chapter 178

Chapter 178
Willow's POV

The morning light streamed through Wildfire's newly installed windows as I pushed open the staff entrance door. After everything that had happened in the warehouse and at the hospital, it felt surreal to be back in a normal work environment—checking inventory, planning events, managing staff. But normal was exactly what I needed right now.

"There she is!" Amelia's voice rang out as I entered the main venue area. She rushed over, followed closely by Ashley. "Where were you yesterday? We tried calling!"

I set my bag down on the reception counter. "Sorry about that. My phone died and I had some... personal stuff to handle." Not entirely a lie—just omitting the part about Sunset fires, gunshot wounds, and life-altering decisions.

"Personal stuff, huh?" Ashley raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. "Must have been pretty important to miss your own surprise."

"Surprise?" I looked between them.

Amelia's face lit up with mischievous excitement. "Oh, you missed something big, boss. Like, front-page-news big." She pulled out her phone, tapping rapidly before turning the screen toward me. "Guess who got arrested last night?"

The headline jumped out immediately: "SINCLAIR HEIRESS ARRESTED ON ARSON AND KIDNAPPING CHARGES; MENTAL EVALUATION ORDERED."

Below it was Chloe's photo—not her usual perfectly posed socialite shot, but a disheveled, wild-eyed version I barely recognized.

"Holy shit," I whispered, taking the phone for a closer look.

"Keep scrolling," Amelia urged. "It gets better."

I swiped through the article, my heart racing as I read details I already knew firsthand. The warehouse fire. The kidnapping attempt. The police raid that had apparently happened while I was at the hospital with Beckeet.

"And the cherry on top," Ashley added, "is her daddy's statement."

I found Richard Sinclair's quote near the bottom: "Our family is devastated by Chloe's actions and the harm she has caused. We will cooperate fully with authorities as we come to terms with our daughter's mental health crisis. We ask for privacy during this painful time."

"Painful time my ass," Amelia snorted. "He's totally throwing her under the bus."

"The Sinclairs are all about image," Ashley added. "And having a daughter who goes around kidnapping people and setting buildings on fire isn't exactly good for business."

I handed the phone back, trying to keep my expression neutral despite the storm of emotions inside me. "That's... intense."

"But wait, there's more," Amelia continued, scrolling further. "Check out social media. It's absolute carnage out there."

She showed me a Twitter thread started by someone with the handle @TheS_List that featured a spreadsheet of incidents—women who claimed to have been harassed, blacklisted, or otherwise destroyed by Chloe over the years. The thread had thousands of retweets and comments, each adding new stories of Chloe's cruelty.

My pulse quickened. The S_List. I immediately knew what it was—Sophia's list. The detailed documentation Beckeet had mentioned, containing all of Chloe's victims. The physical copy was still with Beckeet, which meant someone in his circle had digitized and released it.

"I've never seen such a massive takedown," Ashley commented. "Richard Sinclair's been issuing apologies left and right, but it's like throwing water on a grease fire."

I frowned, scrolling through more comments. "That's weird. The Sinclairs have one of the most aggressive PR teams in Los Angeles."

"Well, they're failing spectacularly this time," Amelia said. "It's like someone opened the floodgates and now everyone feels safe coming forward."

I handed the phone back, my mind racing. Something didn't add up. The Sinclair empire had weathered far worse storms than this. Their inability to control the narrative seemed... deliberate? Or perhaps they were truly overwhelmed for once.

"Anyway," Ashley said, changing the subject, "we need to finalize the contract for Saturday's corporate event. The client wants to add a whiskey tasting station."

I welcomed the distraction of work, and we spent the next few hours focused on venue business. Around noon, my phone rang—Jane's name lighting up the screen.

"Just checking you're still alive," she said when I answered. "After everything that happened..."

"I'm okay," I assured her. "How about you?"

"Better now that psycho barbie is behind bars," Jane replied. "Have you seen the news? It's everywhere."

"Yeah, my staff showed me this morning."

"Well, keep your head down. The media's going nuts trying to find the 'mysterious woman' who was allegedly targeted. Pretty sure that's you."

"Great," I groaned. "Just what I need."

After we hung up, I returned to the main area just as everyone's phones started buzzing simultaneously. Ashley's eyes widened as she looked at her screen.

"Um, boss? Is there something you forgot to tell us?"

She turned her phone toward me. On the screen was an official Blackwood Global press release, announcing the engagement of CEO Damian Blackwood to Willow Clark, with a wedding date set for October 15th at the Blackwood Estate.

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to me.

"Surprise?" I offered weakly.

My mind flashed back to last night, after I'd read Beckeet's messages. I'd found Damian in his study, still on the phone dealing with the Sinclair situation. When he'd finished, I'd shown him Beckeet's texts and told him my decision—that I wanted to keep the baby, that I was ready to accept Ava's wedding plans, that I was choosing him.

The memory of his face in that moment—the rare, unguarded joy that had transformed his usually controlled features—made my heart race even now.

"So let me get this straight," Amelia said, breaking the stunned silence. "You're engaged to Damian Blackwood, and your evil twin sister just got arrested for arson and kidnapping? How are you even real?"

I winced. "When you put it like that..."

"And what about that guy from the opening night?" Ashley asked. "You know, the rapper who got into it with Damian? He seemed pretty into you."

"That's... complicated," I said carefully, not wanting to get into the details of Beckeet's shooting or his messages.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of congratulations, questions I dodged, and an increasing stream of media calls that I directed to Blackwood Global's PR department. By closing time, I was exhausted.

I was locking up when a familiar black Bentley pulled into the parking lot. Damian stepped out, looking impeccable as always in a tailored suit despite the late hour.

"How was your day?" he asked after kissing me briefly.

"Surreal," I admitted as we walked to the car. "Everyone's talking about Chloe's arrest. But something's strange about it—the Sinclairs can't seem to control the narrative at all. It doesn't make sense given their resources."

Damian opened the car door for me, a small smile playing at his lips. "That's because they're facing opposition they weren't expecting."

"What do you mean?" I asked as he slid in beside me.

"Jefferson Wilder," Damian said simply. "Beckeet's father."

"What about him?"

"He's pulling strings behind the scenes. Backing that S_List social media campaign, feeding stories to journalists, making sure Richard's PR team hits roadblocks at every turn."

I stared at him. "Because of Beckeet? Because Chloe had him shot?"

Damian nodded. "The Wilders and Sinclairs have been rivals for decades, but they've maintained a civil public relationship. Jefferson's always been calculated, strategic. But when it comes to his children..." He shrugged. "Even the most controlled men have their breaking points."

I leaned back against the leather seat, processing this new information. "So this whole social media storm isn't just organic outrage—it's an orchestrated takedown."

"Let's call it... assisted justice," Damian replied. "The stories are all true. Jefferson's just making sure they're heard."

As we pulled away from Wildfire, I gazed out at the twinkling Los Angeles skyline. "We're going to the hospital?"

"Yes. We owe him a thank you."

Twenty-four hours ago, I'd been standing at a crossroads, uncertain which path to take. Now, I was engaged, publicly committed to a future with Damian, while the news of Chloe's crimes dominated headlines, secretly fueled by a father's vengeful protection.

And somewhere in a hospital bed, Beckeet was waiting for us both to arrive—the man who'd loved me enough to step aside, and the man I'd chosen to build a life with.

I took a deep breath, preparing for whatever came next.